Greetings from Lone Prairie Ranch. Sounds wild, yes? Not so much, although the coyotes would disagree – and do. As most of you know, I abandoned my farm, Coot’s Edge, to the gentle graces of a couple of far more back-to-the-landers than me, and moved to a country rental. I use the term rental loosely, because it’s a sweet place, with soaring vistas of prairie and creek bottom, a new and challenging garden spot, and even an apple tree. I just don’t own it. And that’s ok, because the folks that do are friendly and helpful, and I have enough room for my stuff. The challenge of moving is, at my age, full of opportunities to change directions and/or habits – or not. Of course, at almost 70 my largest opportunity was to decide on whether I would do a wholesale downsizing or drag all the detritus of my past lives behind me. I chose the latter, of course, and am still unpacking boxes, as I will be doing, I predict, far into spring. It’s ok, though. I have all my life been beset with an almost constant twitchiness, easily bored, quick to abandon one bright shiny thing for another. I believe that’s called creativity. Short version – ADD. Whatever. It works for me. Speaking of which, I gotta go. The boxes call.
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